


Thirty

by 100demons



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Birthday Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/pseuds/100demons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Worick remembers sixteen with a kind of distant fondness and embarrassment, a year when he was constantly hungry for food, for sex, hungry for something better than the shitstain of a cardboard flat he and Nicolas were squatting in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty

Worick remembers sixteen with a kind of distant fondness and embarrassment, a year when he was constantly hungry for food, for sex, hungry for something better than the shitstain of a cardboard flat he and Nicolas were squatting in. His voice started cracking right before his birthday and he grew too damned quick for his clothes, wrists and ankles always sticking out funny until he looked more like a pimple-faced scarecrow than an angelic street waif in desperate need of a loving, motherly hand. Clients who rode his dick not even six months ago would turn down his calls, maybe give him something like a pity fuck and a hot meal before turfing him out of their nice houses with their matching china and doily patterns.

He and Nicolas spent most of that year violently, furiously angry with each other, starting the morning with fistfights and then spending most of the night viciously jerking their dicks off, inventing new ways to leave bruises all over each other with mouths, fists, and the occasional kick. Hell, Worick’s still pretty sure Chad could get a nice set of dental records from the bite mark on his left ass cheek, courtesy of Nicolas Brown’s incisors. Worick couldn’t walk for a week straight, after.

Now, though, _now_ , Worick thinks, as he considers Nicolas’s warm fingers running down the length of his dick, slow and agonizingly unhurried, now is _much_ better. He wakes up to his thirtieth birthday with a surprise handjob and Worick’s pretty sure it doesn’t get much better than the friction of Nicolas’s calluses, the heavy-lidded look he gets when he’s horny (or hunting for a fight, Worick can never quite tell), the liquid sunlight filtering over the sheets and the curve of his Nic’s cock. 

“Good morning,” Worick slurs, fumbling through some half-hearted signs as he arches his hips up into Nicolas’s hand. Nicolas frowns, then presses down on the narrow vee between Worick’s thigh and hip, pinning him down onto the bed.

“Don’t...move,” Nicolas growls, tightening his grip on Worick.

Worick stifles a whine, biting down hard on a knuckle. Pain and pleasure bleed into each other, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. Worick’s nerves stretch tight and wind tighter as Nicolas thumbs the slit of Worick’s cock, slick with precome. 

_Filthy_ , Nicolas slowly spells out the letters on the bone of Worick’s hip, the pulsing curve of his dick with his long, clever fingers. _You want it so fucking bad._

Something like rage, like fire, like love blooms in Worick’s chest and it goes straight to his balls. His hand darts out, catching Nicolas’s jaw hard enough to bruise. He makes sure Nicolas’s eyes are on his lips as he grits out slowly, “ _In_ me" and fuck it, maybe it’s not so different from sixteen after all, when sex and fight were just synonyms for each other. 

The curve of Nicolas’s mouth turns hard and sharp, like the serrated edge of a broken saw. His eyes are pitch black. _Pushy_ , he mouths before biting down hard on Worick’s thumb. 

Worick yelps and in that moment Nico slithers down, spreading Worick’s legs wide open with the serpentine length of his body in a neat trick that Worick _knows_ he’s used on some of his clients before and fuck it if it isn’t just as hot to be on the other end of it, maybe even hotter because it’s Nicolas between his legs and Nicolas’s hands on his dick and--

He shudders, hips helplessly bucking upwards as Nicolas presses his mouth against his opening, tongue flicking out slowly, delicately. One hand is still curled around the base of Worick’s cock, possessive, and stroking in time.

“Holy Goddess,” Worick groans, because it’s times like this when he finds religion again, pushed to the glorious edge by Nicolas’s demonic tongue. He fists his hands in Nicolas’s dark hair, tight, his fingers curving over Nicolas’s ears.

They’re too large for Nicolas’s head, and even at thirty-something he hasn’t managed to grow into them yet. Worick traces one shell, flushed a beautiful dark red and is rewarded with a guttural moan that strums Worick’s nerves perfectly. 

“You ugly fucker,” he says, almost fond. 

Nicolas looks up, a deep annoyance flickering across his face. His lips are red and swollen, shiny wet with spit. 

“Sorry, sorry, keep fucking me silly,” Worick encourages him with a rough laugh.

Nicolas rolls his eyes and snorts, the glint of a challenge glimmering in his eyes.

 _Maybe that was a bad idea--_ , is as far as Worick gets before a long finger slips deep inside of him and his brain shorts out. 

One turns into two then into three long, calloused fingers rocking achingly slow inside of Worick, stretching him wide and slick and Worick can’t focus on anything but on the steady rhythm of Nicolas fucking him open with his fingers. He grinds down onto them helplessly and it’s so much and yet not enough, not enough for his pulsing cock that’s throbbing just short of release.

“Please,” Worick begs, “please, please it’s not-- it’s-- Goddess above, _Nic_.”

He reaches down with a hand, fumbling for his cock but Nicolas bats it away. 

“Damn it,” Worick snaps, “don’t make me repeat myself. I said _in me_ , Nicolas.”

Nicolas looks up at him, sweat glistening on his naked chest, on the edge of his collarbones, on the muscles working in his throat as he swallows. 

Worick gasps as Nicolas slips his fingers out and he’s left achingly empty. Then Nicolas arches over him, his hands braced on both sides of Worick’s shoulders. 

There’s a feral, fey glitter in his eyes, hot with bloodlust.

“As you wish,” he whispers jaggedly as he thrusts the hard length of his cock inside Worick and suddenly it’s too much for Worick to bear, too rough and too sudden. It’s absolutely perfect. 

Nicolas fucks him fast and hard, slamming into him over and over again as the bed trembles underneath. Worick loses all sense of time as he rocks his hips upwards, each short, ragged breath he gasps out a small piece of eternity.

Then Nicolas bends down and presses a soft kiss on the corner of Worick’s mouth, his tongue darting out like an afterthought.

“Oh,” Worick breathes out, more air than sound, and falls apart. 

Dimly, at the edges of his orgasm, he can feel Nicolas stiffen and shudder deep within him, something hot and thick flowing within. It’s only when Nicolas collapses on top of him, heavy and his hair damp with sweat that Worick’s synapses start firing again, very slowly.

“Well,” Worick finally manages to get out, in between pants. 

Nicolas is still plastered on top of Worick like a limp octopus, his nose buried in the crook of Worick’s neck. 

“Oi, Nic.” Worick nudges Nicolas with a lazy finger, looking down vaguely with his eye. He catches the faint outline of teethmarks on the curve of his shoulder and as if on cue, it starts pulsing feebly with pain.

“You and the biting,” Worick mutters, but he can’t muster up much anger, not when his brain still feels like soup and his dick is still tender-soft. 

There’s come drying on a sticky, itchy mess on his stomach and seeping out his asshole and there’s two hundred pounds of sleepy muscle crushing his lungs. Worick can’t imagine being anywhere else.

“Happy birthday to me,” he smiles and thinks that another thirty years of this wouldn’t be so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> All sex is angry sex for these two losers. 
> 
> (I was going to end it on a much sadder note, like, HAHA WORICK, you adorable bara in denial, as if Nic is ever going to survive another thirty years to fuck you and your magnificent chest hair. Then I realized that's an awful way to kill a boner, so I left it out. You're welcome!)


End file.
